by Sara Craven
She might wear it up for a change, she thought, smiling to herself as she imagined Remy unfastening the clip at some point, and letting the soft strands spill through his fingers.
She applied her favourite scented body lotion, then drew on a pair of tiny black lace briefs. For a long moment she looked at herself in the full-length mirror, assessing almost clinically the seductive effect of the little black triangle against the creaminess of her skin.
I’m not a beauty, she thought, but please—please—let him find me beautiful tonight. Let him desire me so much that nothing else matters. That, in spite of everything, he’ll know that he can’t live without me—and he’ll forgive me what I have to say, and wait until I’m free to come to him. Oh, please…
She zipped herself into the dress, then picked up a comb and began experimenting with her hair. She paused, her attention arrested by the sound of a vehicle approaching fast.
It sounds like the Jeep, she thought, bewildered, and one swift glance from the window confirmed this.
He’s come to fetch me, she thought ruefully, and I’m not nearly ready yet.
Still barefoot, she began to descend the stairs, halting, a smile playing round her lips, as the door was flung wide and Remy strode into the living room below.
‘You’re impatient, monsieur,’ she teased. ‘You’ve spoiled my surprise.’
Then she saw his face and gasped, her hand tightening convulsively on the stair-rail.
He was as white as a sheet, his skin drawn tautly across his cheekbones, his mouth harshly compressed. The vivid eyes stared up at her, the ice of their contempt searing her like a living flame, and she realised he was holding something like a sheaf of papers, rolled in his hand.
‘A surprise, madame?’ His voice cut like a knife. ‘I think I have been surprised enough for one day.’
He tossed the papers he was holding towards the foot of the stairs, and she realised they were, in fact, the pages of a glossy magazine.
She said hoarsely, ‘I—I don’t understand.’
‘Then you have a short memory, madame,’ Remy returned with paralysing scorn. ‘Also a selective one, if you have managed to so conveniently forget your own wedding.’
And then, at last, Allie remembered. Oh, God, she thought with a kind of sick despair, that dreadful interview with County magazine that Grace had insisted on—the ghastly pictures they took of me in my dress and veil, posing me beside Hugo so it wouldn’t be quite as obvious that he was in a wheelchair. The whole appalling farce. How could I ever have forgotten? Yet I did. And now—now—it’s come back to haunt me.
She looked down at the crumpled magazine. Forced frozen lips to ask, ‘Where did you find it?’
‘I did not,’ he denied curtly. ‘Solange Geran was throwing away some old magazines her English guests had left in one of the gîtes, and she saw the photograph. Read the story of the bride and groom whose love triumphed over adversity.’ His laugh was corrosive in its bitterness. ‘A romantic story she could not wait to share with me, naturellement.’
Solange, she thought with a terrible weariness. Of course…
She bent her head. ‘Remy—I can explain…’
‘But how? By telling me that you have an identical twin who happens to share your given name? Or some other lie to add to the rest?’
The savagery in his voice made her shrink. If she hadn’t been gripping the rail, she would probably have fallen.
Instead, she forced herself to stand her ground, struggling to control her voice—to hide the hideous debilitating weakness that was making her tremble all over. Because somehow she had to make him listen to her. Salvage something out of the wreckage of her hopes and dreams.
‘No, it’s true,’ she said with quiet weariness. ‘I—I am married.’ She lifted her chin. ‘But I was going to tell you. I—I swear it.’
‘Ah, but when, madame?’ Remy asked with cruel mockery. ‘Did you plan to wait for our wedding night, perhaps? Inform me then that I had become a bigamist?’
Her throat tightened to an agony. Tears glittered on her lashes. ‘Remy—don’t—please.’
‘Why should I spare you? he flung at her. ‘When from the first you have lied to me—deceived me in this vile way?’
‘I—I wanted to tell you. I—did try…’
He said slowly, ‘If you had worn your ring and used your married name, then I would have known from the first. I would never have approached you.’ He shook his head. ‘But you did not. And Madame Colville encouraged you in this. C’est incroyable.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t blame Tante Madelon. She did her best to persuade me—to do the right thing. If I didn’t, then it’s my fault alone.’
‘Yes.’ His tone was starkly accusing. ‘You—alone, as I now see.’ He threw his head back, staring up at her with eyes as cold and remote as a polar ocean. ‘Mon Dieu, Alys, you knew that I loved you, and you—you let me think that you loved me in turn.’
‘I did,’ she said. ‘I do. Darling, you must believe that—’
‘You have a strange idea of love, madame. Presumably you loved your husband when you married him. Yet within only a few months of your marriage you broke your vows and gave yourself to me. The date of your wedding is given—here.’ He walked across to the foot of the stairs and kicked the magazine. ‘Isn’t it a little early for such flagrant infidelity? What kind of a woman does such a thing?’
A desperate one…
She winced inwardly. ‘I never meant you to find out—like this.’
His mouth curled. ‘Now, that I do believe.’
‘And I didn’t marry for love,’ she went on desperately. ‘If you read the text with the photograph, you’ll know that my—that Hugo was very badly injured in a polo accident. He’s never been my husband in any real sense.’
‘Then why did you marry him?’ he asked scathingly. ‘For money? For his title? And did you find then that it was not enough? I think maybe it was so.’
His laugh jeered at her. ‘And so you came to France—to find yourself a lover and enjoy a little sexual adventure, n’est-ce pas? Was that my purpose in your life, madame? To ease for you the frustration of a disappointing marriage? I hope I gave satisfaction.’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No—please—it wasn’t like that. I never expected to meet you—to fall in love,’ she added on a little sob.
The dark, bitter face did not soften. ‘I never hid my attraction to you, Alys. You knew from the first how it was with me. Yet you never stepped back,’ he said harshly. ‘Never warned me that legally and morally you were beyond my reach.’
He took a deep breath. ‘God knows, I am no saint, but I would never knowingly allow myself to become entangled with another man’s wife, any more than I would knock him down in the street and rob him.
‘But that is not everything,’ he added grimly. ‘That day at the standing stones I told you plainly that I needed you to trust me, but in spite of that you still kept your secret hidden—because you could not bring yourself to confide in me. And that, perhaps, is the greatest hurt—the worst betrayal of all.’
‘I so wanted to.’ Her voice shook. ‘But I was—afraid I’d lose you.’
‘No trust,’ he said, flatly. ‘And no faith either. Ah, Dieu.’
‘I was going to tell you this evening,’ she said huskily. ‘Darling, I swear it. I had it all planned.’
‘But of course,’ he returned with cold mockery. ‘Was it to have been before or after I committed the ultimate folly of asking you to marry me?’
‘Remy, don’t say that.’ She spoke jerkily. ‘I know I’ve done everything the wrong way, and I blame myself completely. But, please, can’t we sit down and talk properly? I need to make you understand—’
‘But I understand quite well, madame.’ He interrupted her stumbling words with swift impatience. ‘You have made fools of us both—your husband and your lover. But he at least will never know that you have cheated him so monstrously. So he is the fortunate one.’
He gave her one last scornful look. ‘Although I do not envy him,’ he added, and turned to go.
‘Remy.’ His name burst pleadingly from her throat. ‘Don’t do this to me—to both of us. Don’t leave like this.’
He halted. Swung back, and walked up the stairs to her, his hand closing on her wrist, not gently.
‘Then how, Alys?’ There was a note in his voice that jarred her senses. ‘Or do you hope, perhaps, for a more intimate adieu? For me to pay a final visit to your charmingly eager body?’
He shrugged, his mouth set in a sneer. ‘Eh bien, pourquoi pas? All else may be gone, but sex still remains. What a practical girl you are, ma belle.’ He swung her off her feet almost negligently, carrying her up the stairs.
For a moment Allie was stunned, then she began to struggle against his bruising grip, pushing against his chest with clenched fists.
‘No—Remy—no.’ It was a cry of fear as well as anger. ‘I didn’t mean that. Put me down—now.’
But he ignored her protests, shouldering his way into her bedroom, and when he set her on her feet it was only so that he could access her zip more easily. Halfway down, it stuck, and he took the edges of her dress in strong relentless hands and dragged them apart. She heard the stitching rip irrevocably, then the silky fabric slithered down her body and pooled around her feet, leaving her, she knew, as good as naked under the inimical intensity of his gaze. Then he picked her up again, with almost insulting ease, and tossed her down on to the bed.
Dear God, she thought frantically as she twisted away, trying to cover herself with her hands. She had dressed—scented herself—for this moment. But not like this. Never like this…
She felt a sudden onrush of tears scald her face, and her voice cracked on a sob of sheer desolation as she echoed her own words aloud. ‘Not like this—oh, please—not like this.’
And waited in agony to feel herself touched—taken.
But there was nothing. And when, at last, she dared look at him, he was standing over her, his arms folded across his chest, his mouth a hard, angry line in the bleak mask of his face.
‘Stop crying,’ he directed brusquely. ‘You need not be concerned. I already despise myself for having wanted you at all.’ He added with contempt, ‘I shall not add to my own shame by taking you.’
She watched him walk in silence to the door. Saw it close behind him. Heard the heaviness of his footsteps descending the stairs and, a moment or two later, the Jeep’s engine coming to life. Listened as the sound of it faded. Leaving—nothing.
Then Allie turned on to her stomach and began to weep in real earnest, her whole body shaking with her sobs.
As she began to mourn the love that had begun to fill her life, but which was now lost to her for ever.
It was several hours later that she heard the sound of another approaching vehicle. She’d come downstairs, principally to throw away her torn dress, and had remained. She was now occupying the corner of a sofa, in her dressing gown, hugging one of the cushions for comfort as she stared sightlessly into space. But at the noise she tensed, looking apprehensively towards the door.
It wasn’t the Jeep coming back, she told herself, torn between relief and disappointment. But, even worse, it might be Solange, coming to gloat.
Then the door opened and Madelon Colville came in, walking slowly, leaning on a cane.
She saw Allie and checked instantly, her brows lifting in alarm as she registered the girl’s pale, stricken face. ‘Qu’as tu, mon enfant?’ she demanded urgently. ‘What in heaven is the matter?’
‘Remy.’ Allie could only manage a choked whisper. She picked up the magazine and held it out, open at the appropriate page. ‘Solange found—this. And showed him.’
‘Ah, ma petite.’ Tante took it from her, giving the offending photograph a cursory glance, then tossed it aside and sat beside her, taking the cold hands in hers. ‘I always feared something like this.’ She paused. ‘Is he very angry?’
Allie looked at her with drowned eyes. ‘Furious—and so bitter, because I didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth myself. I think he cared more about that than he did about Hugo,’ she added wretchedly.
Tante nodded. ‘And did you tell him how you had been trapped into this marriage, and how miserable it has made you?’
‘I tried, but he didn’t want to know.’
‘Eh bien.’ Tante patted her hand. ‘In a day or two he will be calmer, and perhaps more ready to listen.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘It is difficult for him in a community like this. He is a young, good-looking doctor. He falls in love with a single girl, and the whole town will come to the wedding and wish them well. But if he is known to be having an affaire with a married woman, that is a different matter.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Foolish as it seems, some husbands might not wish their wives to be treated by such a man.
‘Besides,’ she added candidly. ‘His own sense of honour would balk at a liaison like that, I think.’
‘Yes,’ Allie agreed wanly. ‘I—did get that impression.’ She shook her head despairingly. ‘Oh, God, I’ve been such a stupid, criminal fool. Why didn’t I listen to you when you warned me?’ She bit her lip. ‘More importantly, why didn’t I listen to Remy—and trust him?’ Her voice broke. ‘What am I going to do?’
‘Tomorrow—nothing,’ Tante said briskly. ‘Except rest, and recover your looks and your spirits. Then go to see him, and tell him everything about your life in England. Make him aware of the whole truth about this ill-judged marriage, and explain why, for a little while, you wished to forget your unhappiness, however unwise it may have been. If he loves you, he will listen.’
Will he? Allie wondered. She found herself remembering his eyes, burning with angry contempt, mixed with pain. His words, ‘I despise myself for having wanted you,’ and had to control a shiver.
There had been moments when he’d reminded her of a wounded animal, she thought with anguish, and he might be equally dangerous to approach. Nevertheless, somehow, she had to try.
She leaned forward and kissed the older woman’s scented cheek. ‘It’s wonderful to have you back,’ she said gently. ‘But you’re still limping. Do you think you should have driven back from Vannes?’
Tante gave her a tranquil smile. ‘They are the dearest friends,’ she said. ‘But sometimes—enough is enough.’ She paused. ‘Besides, ma chère, I woke this morning with a premonition that you would need me before the day was over.’ She sighed. ‘But I hoped very much I would be wrong.’
Allie slept badly that night, and spent the following day on tenterhooks, hoping against hope that Remy might relent in some way and contact her.
If he was just prepared to hear me out it would be something, she told herself silently, as she paced restlessly round the garden.
All the same, she knew that her failure to confide in him would still be a major stumbling block to any real rapprochement between them.
It was all he’d ever really asked of her, and she’d failed him totally. Which was something he might find impossible to forgive. And somehow she had to prepare herself for that. Even learn to accept it.
He may not want me any more, she thought desolately. Not after what I’ve done. But maybe—if I talk to him—explain how it was—we could at least part as friends.
Perhaps that’s the most I can ask for. And the most I can offer.
When breakfast was over the next day, she came downstairs and said, ‘I’m going to Trehel.’
Tante looked her over, assessing the elegant cut of the tailored cream linen trousers and the indigo silk of the short sleeved shirt Allie was wearing with them.
‘With all flags flying, petite?’ There was a touch of wryness in her voice.
Allie held up her left hand, with the gold band on its third finger. ‘And total honesty at last.’
Tante nodded. ‘The de Brizats are an old and a proud family, my child. Remember that, and do not expect this to be easy for you.’ She paused. ‘Bonne chance, Alys.’
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nbsp; I’ll need it, Allie thought as she started the car. Every scrap of luck that’s going, and every prayer answered too.
Today, the house looked quiet and brooding in the sunlight, its shuttered windows like barriers, warning her not to come too close. Or was that her guilty conscience, working on her imagination?
Stomach churning, she drove round to the back and stopped in the courtyard. Remy’s Jeep, she saw, was parked in its usual place, and she breathed a faint sigh of relief. At least she didn’t have to go into Ignac and confront him at the medical centre.
As she got out, she heard the dogs begin to bark in the main house, but she ignored them. Squaring her shoulders, she marched up to the barn door and turned the handle, as she’d done so many times before. But the door didn’t swing open to admit her, and she realised it must be locked.
He’s never done that before, she thought with a silent sigh. Yet he must know that I’d be coming come to see him. He’s obviously planning to make me beg.
She lifted the brass knocker shaped like a horse’s head. They’d bought it together at the market only a few days ago, because she’d said the horse looked like Roland. She beat a vigorous tattoo.
But there was no response, nor sound of movement within. Allie stepped back, shading her eyes as she looked at the upper windows, and then with a rush and a whimper the dogs were there, circling round her, tails wagging, as they pushed delighted muzzles at her, waiting for her to stroke and pet them.
She turned and saw Georges de Brizat, standing looking at her across the courtyard, his face like a stone. He whistled abruptly, and the dogs, reluctant but obedient, moved back to his side. He hooked his hands into their collars and kept them there.
As if, she thought with real shock, she might contaminate them.
He said, ‘Why are you here, madame? You must know you are not welcome.’
Allie lifted her chin. ‘I need to see Remy. I have to talk to him—to explain.’
‘It seems that your husband is the one who requires an explanation,’ he said with grim emphasis. ‘Go back to him, madame, if he will have you. There is nothing for you here.’